


Conquer

by triforcelegends8



Series: Intoxicated [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 04:53:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2137686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triforcelegends8/pseuds/triforcelegends8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’s going on here?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conquer

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the delay, but here it is now! Follow me on tumblr at triforcelegends8fanfiction for updates almost every day! Happy Reading! Leave a comment telling me what you think! ^^

“What’s going on here?”

Lestrade walked through the door and began to talk about a case he had when he lifted his eyes and saw the terrible scene before him.

“Lestrade!” John exclaimed. “Finally! He’s been hurting me for hours; hitting me, using the riding crop and—“ his features softened and he faked the tears that rolled down his cheeks, “… and… touching me.”

Meanwhile, Sherlock dropped the riding crop and stood frozen in his spot while John lied—well he didn’t lie, but he made it seem like he had been the victim—to Lestrade about what was going on.

“Please, you have to let me go. Untie me, Lestrade! Please!” John begged desperately. He wriggled against his bindings and looked at the DI with wild eyes.

Lestrade slowly approached John, keeping his eyes locked on the stunned Sherlock, and held his hand on the butt of his gun, wary of what the dark-haired man might do. Once at John’s side, Lestrade took a moment to make sure Sherlock would stay put, then bent down to untie the man. When he was done and straightened back up, his eyes made contact with Sherlock’s and he saw the most vivid emotions in his eyes: fear, betrayal, anger. He did a double take of the man’s face and saw the fear take over his face when looking at John. Lestrade glanced at the sandy-haired man and saw a smug look of triumph on his features. His brow furrowed and he asked again, “What’s going on here?”

Sherlock made a noise in his throat, as if trying to speak, but only rasped the word “he”. His eyes were focused on John’s and he eventually found the power to look away and clear his throat before saying, “He… he hurt me, Lestrade. He hurt me.”

The DI narrowed his eyes slightly and glanced between the two men. “From what I saw, Sherlock, it looked like you were hurting him.”

Sherlock shook his head furiously, the vigorous movement contrasting to the rest of his frozen body. “I wasn’t—I mean, I was, but he didn’t care. He deserved it. He didn’t care.” His voice shook with the last sentence and he trembled as Lestrade raised a hand to the man’s shoulder.

John looked at Lestrade with disbelief. “You’re not seriously believing him, are you? He was practically torturing me!” he said incredulously.

“I don’t know what to believe. If you boys’ll come down to the station with me, we can get the sorted.”

“You’re arresting us? Arresting me? I didn’t do anything!” John said, not believing his luck.

“If you come down to the station cooperatively, then I won’t have to. There’s got to be a reason he did this to you. He’s not the psychopath people think he is,” Lestrade said assuredly. He turned to Sherlock and asked, “You’ll come down to the station, won’t you, Sherlock?”

Sherlock merely nodded, too numb to speak. Possibilities of what would happen to him were running through his mind as he knew John would twist the story to make himself look like the victim and Sherlock like the bad guy.

“Good,” Lestrade said, relieved, “Now, if you’ll both come with me, we can get this all sorted.” He gestured a commanding ‘come here’ motion with his hand and waited for the two other men to make their way to the door.

Sherlock moved first, following Lestrade quickly through the door, not realizing that John was right on his heels, his hand possessively gripping the neck of his Belstaff, his hand and arm hidden from the DI’s view, who had his back turned to the two men.

John leaned in close to Sherlock, his entire frame pushing against the dark-haired man’s back, the heat from his earlier arousal and anger still prevalent in the temperature of his body through the thick coat and layers of clothes.

The sandy-haired man leaned up on his tip-toes, and pulled Sherlock down a little before whispering harshly, “If you tell anyone, and I mean anyone, what happened, I will kill you. I will take you again like I have before and fucking kill you. Hear me?” He gave Sherlock a slight shake before backing away when Lestrade turned to check on the two men behind him. He gave a thoughtful look at them when he saw Sherlock’s haunted and unusually pale face twisted tight with fear. Lestrade knew something here was not what it seemed. He might not be the world’s only consulting detective, but that didn’t mean he was some pushover. Sherlock was afraid of something and Lestrade got the feeling that that something was a someone.

A someone that was behind Sherlock now.

It was a wild thought, coming out of nowhere with no evidence—well there might be evidence, but none Lestrade deemed tangible. Like physical proof or alibis. Things like that was what Lestrade needed, not just a gut feeling that latched itself deep in his stomach and mind, feeding off of every little movement John made towards Sherlock, or Sherlock moving away from John. Something was definitely wrong between those two and it wasn’t something good like he had thought when he first met John.

“Right,” Lestrade said once the three were at the car. It was the standard police car, none of the lights blazing or horns blaring. “John you get in the back. Sherlock you sit up front with me.”

“Why isn’t he sitting in the back too? I thought we were both being taken in. Shouldn’t he have to sit back there as well?” John complained before he could even think about not speaking.

Sherlock swallowed timidly, waiting for the solid reason Lestrade would give for Sherlock sitting up front instead of the back; he didn’t want to be stuck in the back with John so close. The reason never came.

The DI sighed and scratched the back of his head in mild frustration. “Alright, you’ve got a point. Just, uh, no speaking or anything. If I catch one of you speaking to the other, he sits up front. Understood?”

John smiled slightly and nodded firmly. While Sherlock gave a feeble nod to the ground, John opened the backseat door by Sherlock and gestured for him to get in.

After a moment’s hesitation, Sherlock ducked his head and entered the vehicle averting his eyes from John’s heated glare. He scrambled in, quickly followed by John, who sat a little too far on Sherlock’s side of the car, their knees touching. Sherlock stared at the back of the passenger seat in front of him and could feel John staring at him. He turned his head slightly and out of the corner of his eye say John smiling widely and looking down on Sherlock.

John noticed Sherlock’s glance and lifted a finger up to his lips, reminding Sherlock to tell no one the truth.

He didn’t plan on telling anyone.

It wasn’t only embarrassing in the worst kind of way, but it was also degrading. He was overpowered so easily by this man, who was drunk at the time, and he had taken Sherlock and enjoyed it. And Sherlock didn’t do anything. He had told no one and knew there would be consequences if he did. It was a constant battle in his mind of whether or not he should let at least someone know about what happened to him, the good consequences usually outweighing the bad. But the bad consequences were more than Sherlock felt he could handle. John would definitely take him again and might do worse to him. He didn’t want that.

He didn’t want any of this. He never wanted any of this. Why him?

After a few more minute’s thought, Sherlock came to the conclusion that he would tell someone. It might not be Lestrade, but for God’s sake he needed to tell someone. But it had to be someone of authority, so John would be taken care of like he should be and Sherlock could live again without having to fear for his safety with the man he lives with. The only other person Sherlock could think of was Mycroft and though he trusted his brother, he felt it would be a form of defeat and submission to him, and Sherlock didn’t want that.

He glanced and John again and found him staring with such intensity that Sherlock had to quickly look away and stare out the window. He tried to calm himself by watching the buildings, people, and other cars pass by, but failed when he felt John’s hand high up on his leg. His blood ran cold in his frozen veins and his breath hitched in his throat. John rubbed his thumb back and forth near Sherlock’s crotch and squeezed his thigh firmly. Sherlock tried to scoot away from the man, but only caused John to move his hand right on his crotch. He whimpered softly and shut his eyes when John began to grope and massage his member. In spite of the situation, his cock was slowly hardening from the physical touch.

Suddenly, the car was stopped, John quickly removed his hand and rested it in his own lap, and Lestrade exited the car. Lestrade went around to the other side of the car to open Sherlock’s door first, then going around to John’s side to do the same.

Once both men were out of the vehicle, Lestrade gestured towards the building and said, “This way. And—don’t talk to anyone unless you’re in the interrogation rooms. Understand?”

“Understood,” John said firmly as Sherlock silently nodded.

All three men walked briskly into the building and into the specified rooms, neither John nor Sherlock talking to anyone on the way. Donovan and Anderson were there working, and, upon seeing Sherlock, a look of hatred and disgust crossed their faces. When they saw where the men were headed, their faces fell into an expression of confusion and slight concern. They kept it to themselves, and after giving each other a look of confusion they went back to work.

Upon entering the interrogation room, Sherlock sat down at the table, which was the only piece of furniture in the room besides chairs, and John took a seat next to him.

“Ah, no. Come on, John. You’re going to another room,” Lestrade said, making a sweeping motion towards the door.

John opened his mouth to argue, but quickly shut it, knowing this was procedure and that he wouldn’t be able to change the DI’s mind. He looked at Sherlock with a hard glare and got up to follow Lestrade to his own room, leaving Sherlock alone.

But only for a moment as there was a knock on the door and it opened as Mycroft strode in. He was wearing a black suit with a tan waistcoat and a maroon tie, holding his umbrella in his right hand lightly.

“Hello, little brother. Gotten into a bit a trouble, haven’t we?” the older man lilted.

Sherlock didn’t speak, only looked down at the table in front of him.

Mycroft sighed and looked around the room with distaste, wrinkling his nose at the damp smell and squinting his yes in the dim light filling the room. “I came over as soon as I was informed that you and Dr. Watson seemed to have been taken in,” he said. “Care to tell me why?”

Sherlock only stared wide-eyed at the table and swallowed hard.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft said firmly, making the other man slowly look up. Mycroft set down his umbrella lightly and leisurely walked over to Sherlock and stood behind him.

The dark-haired man knew his older brother was trying to intimidate him into telling him what happened. But it wasn’t going to work. It wouldn’t. It couldn’t.

But it was.

Mycroft rested his hand on Sherlock’s shoulders making him flinch and leaned down where his mouth was right behind his ear and whispered softly, “What has John done to you?”

Sherlock choked on a sob as he leaned forward, away from Mycroft. He brought his arms around his torso and wrapped himself in his long limbs.

“What. Did. He. Do,” Mycroft demanded fiercely as he tightened his grip on Sherlock’s shoulders.

Sherlock shuddered and lowered his head.

The older man softened his grip and tone as he said, “Please tell me, Sherlock.”

The dark-haired man lifted his head and glared at the door across the room from him. He stopped shuddering and said emotionlessly, “He raped me.”


End file.
